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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28520265">Little soldier boy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/isa_belle/pseuds/isa_belle'>isa_belle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dream smp [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anger, Betrayal, Canon Compliant, Injury, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Revolution, War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:20:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,749</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28520265</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/isa_belle/pseuds/isa_belle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They say the word of the innocent is the most honest, that the young are to sweet to know how to truly lie. </p>
<p>After all, how can one understand that something is wrong when it’s all they’ve ever known? A bigger picture is hard to see when you don’t know to look. </p>
<p>Take these words of a boy and a war. Spoiled and ravaged and made anew. Maybe you’ll make of it something he couldn’t. </p>
<p>or, the diary of Tommy Innit, entries from the entire history of the smp</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; TommyInnit, TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF) &amp; Everyone, Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dream smp [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068152</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter one</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28067874">the tundra isn't cold today</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/anetherealmelody/pseuds/anetherealmelody">anetherealmelody</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i genuinely don’t know how to feel about this. it starts off a bit slow but i have plans for where i want it to go so let me know if you’re interested in reading that. </p>
<p>enjoy :)</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hello. (Am I supposed to say dear diary? I think that sounds stupid.) It’s Tommy.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello!! i wrote this! it's okay, but i hope you like it!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry one: </span>
</p><p class="p1">     Hello. (Am I supposed to say dear diary? I think that sounds stupid.) It’s Tommy. I found this journal buried in a chest in the back of my house when I was cleaning today. I think I stashed it there after Phil gave it to me a while back as a gift or something. Sort of a rubbish gift I’d say, I’m not really the writing type. That’s definitely more Techno and Wilbur’s area of expertise. But he probably meant well. </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">I thought I would use this thing to put my </span> <strike><span class="s2">magnif</span> <span class="s2">magnifisent</span></strike>  <span class="s1">magnificent brain and very high iq to use and grace the world with the inner thoughts of one, big man Tommy Innit, and the goings on of his <em>very</em> interesting life. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I don’t really know what to write in here. What’s happened lately?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh! I have these music disks, right? I worked really hard to get them and they mean a lot to me. But they were stolen, which sucked a lot. Me and Tubbo fought Dream to get them back and won, it was super awesome. We’re kind of the coolest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yeah I think that’s good enough for today. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Goodbye I guess. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Big T</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry two: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What’s up. It’s Tommy again. Obviously. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wow I have not written in here for a long time. Should I apologize for not writing? I’m not really sure. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Things have been sort of boring as of late so I didn’t have anything to report. But, something actually noteworthy happened for once. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wilbur came to me and was like “Tommy, you’re my best and closest friend, do you wanna sell drugs with me?” And I was all “of course big man, drugs is my middle name!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And so we did! We have a really cool van where we keep our stuff, and Tubbo helps out. Wil’s even brought Fundy along. But police keep coming and taking our shit and punching us and stuff which is honestly just so rude. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It’s not fair either, we’re not doing anything wrong. That’s what Wilbur says at least. They’re being violent for no reason. Its’s irrational. </span> <span class="s2"> <strike>It’s like</strike> </span> <span class="s1"> It’s like injustice or something. Discrimination. But hopefully it all turns out for the better. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a lot of fun.I’m really glad to be hanging out with Wilbur again. I missed him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-T man</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry three:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hey. It’s Tommy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I think something big is happening. I think we’re making it happen. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">I can feel it in the air. It’s like there’s this blinding light, just hovering around us, enveloping us in this static feeling of excitement. Like the sun fell from the sky and settled right here, an arms length away. It makes the blood in my veins buzz and shine, it makes me itch to </span> <span class="s2">do</span> <span class="s1"> something. And it burns a little, but that’s not a bad thing, it makes me want to go out and <em>do</em>. It’s practically tangible, and it’s contagious. I can tell that Wilbur feels it too, and so do Tubbo and Fundy.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">  </span> <strike><span class="s2">I think. </span></strike> <span class="s1">I think maybe we’re doing something really good. Something that matters, that could mean something to people. It certainly means something to us. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s called <em>L’manburg</em>. It’s a country that’s free of the tyranny of the rest of the smp. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It’s a safe haven. Everyone here is allowed to be who they want and do what they want and live how they want. A nation without conflict and discrimination. </span> <strike> <span class="s2">I think it’s a government Technoblade could get behind</span> </strike></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">We’re not allowed to wear armor (I think it might just be because Wilbur doesn’t like armor, but he says it’s because we don’t fight wars with swords and shields, we fight them with words. It’s supposed to symbolize our nations pacifism or some other big word). </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it’s not just an idea, it’s a place. It’s got these big walls around it that Eret and Fundy built. And our old van, and a lake, and a field of flowers and trees. It’s amazing. It’s really, <em>really</em> amazing. I hope Phil comes to visit sometime. I think he’d like it here.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">We want to succeed from the Smp. We want independence. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wilbur is worried what Dream will do about it. He thinks I can’t tell he’s nervous, he believes himself to be a very good actor. Maybe he is. But I know him pretty fucking well. He keeps pacing and spacing out. He shouldn’t be worried. We can take Dream. We can take anyone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They can throw whatever the hell they want our way and we can take it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe it’s just the feeling. Maybe I’m drunk off of it and it’s making me delusional with hope. But I think that’s okay for now. I think it’s okay to have a little hope. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Tommy Innit</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry four:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So. We started a revolution. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">We didn’t want it to be like this. But Dream wouldn’t let us go in peace so we’re doing what we have to.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     We declared our independence, officially. Suffice it to say, they did not like that. We just received a declaration of war.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     I’ve never fought a real war before. Not like Phil or Techno. I’m no veteran, but I know how to fight, and I can hold my own. We’ve got a good chance I think. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Dream may have his men and his resources and his power. But we have a cause. We’re fighting </span> <span class="s3">for</span> <span class="s1"> something. And we’re not going to give it up easily. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can burn down our forests and threaten us all he wants. He’s just further proving that we’re on the right side of history. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">We’re doing something good. I’m sure of that now. What’s happening is important. We have their attention now, they’re looking. We just have to do something with it. Something good. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Dream is a villain. He’s a tyrant. He can hide behind fancy words of ‘keeping the peace’ and ‘maintaining order,’ but at the end of the day </span> <em> <span class="s3">he</span> </em> <span class="s1"> declared war on </span> <em> <span class="s3">us. </span></em><span class="s1">He started this. And we’re gonna fucking finish it. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">This haven that we’ve created? I care about it. </span> <em> <span class="s3">We care</span></em><span class="s1">. And we’re gonna defend it with our lives. Through flames and arrows and clashing swords. Through bloodshed and armor and red hot rage. ‘Til the end of the goddamn line. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">L’manburg really is something special. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Tommy </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It’s hard to fight a war with scraps. It’s tough to be the underdog.<br/>It’s an uphill battle, that’s for damn sure.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi guys! enjoy &gt;:D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry five:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hey. It’s me. I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about the stories Phil used to tell, the books that Techno used to read to me as I fell asleep. I think I’ve got a bone to pick with the writers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Storybooks don’t really tell you how exhausting it is to fight a war. They make it sound so pretty, so righteous. Like all the sacrifice is a beautiful tragedy, and not hell. They make every soldier into these brave little heroes fighting for truth and justice and shit. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">But it’s not that simple I don’t think. The stories of war are told in gold but forged in blood. I think it’s shitty that the books leave that bit out. Sure you feel like a hero sometimes, you feel the sun on your face and the adrenaline in your veins and you remember that you’re here to do something good, something </span> <em> <span class="s2">important</span> </em> <span class="s1">. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But most of the time you’re just on autopilot, trying to shut your eyes to not see if your shot hit because a dying man is not a pretty or righteous thing. A dying man is eyes rolling back and knees buckling and one last puff of air. It’s the scream of his brothers and the thunk of a body hitting the dirt. It’s not glorious. It’s not righteous. It’s gritty and it’s the truth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">And I hate it, I think, a bit. But it’s not like I can stop. And I don’t think I would, even if I could. We have a purpose. I’ve never had a purpose like this before.<br/>
<br/>
     L’manburg matters to me like nothing ever has.</p><p class="p1">    And maybe it’s not pretty and maybe I still think the story writers were wrong, but I’m doing what’s right. It’s my duty to do what’s right.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But for some reason that doesn’t make it any easier. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Tommy</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry six:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“White flags.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s threatening us. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dream, that is. He wants us to surrender.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s been hitting us harder lately. We’ve won our fair share of battle but it’s clear who has the power here. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s hard to fight a war with scraps. It’s tough to be the underdog. We’re running low on potions, and we have been for a while. We don’t have supplies to spare. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tubbo has quite the knack for makeshift bandages though. And Fundy and Niki help with food. </span> <strike> <span class="s3">I feel a little useless. I’m no good at anything like that, I’m barely even a good fighter. I think Wilbur can tell, he’s a lot more generous with compliments lately. I appreciate the effort.</span> </strike></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s an uphill battle, that’s for damn sure. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wilbur isn’t liking the odds. We talk about it sometimes-not often, usually when it’s dark and everyone else is fast asleep. Just us and the stars and the moon. I don’t think he likes showing the other that he can be weak. Thinks they need a fearless leader to ground them or something like that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s worried. But we’ve been worried from the beginning. This has never been a fair fight. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Independence or death.” Right? We’ve always been willing to put everything on the line. But I guess it’s easier said than done, and Wilbur has a son to worry about. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Tommy </span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry seven: </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">We trusted him. We fucking trusted him and he betrayed us, that fucking power hungry little </span> <em> <span class="s2">weasel.</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a traitors signature on the declaration. It makes me sick. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Final control room, my ass Eret. “It was never meant to be.” What the fuck does that even mean? </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">I see him when I close my fucking eyes, the image is burned into my eyelids. Eret standing there, doing the L’manburg salute, in the uniform we gave him, fingers on a button, empty chests. Strapped with the supplies <em>we</em> worked</span> <span class="s1"> for. We gave him everything, our trust our friendship, and he relayed us with betrayal. </span> <strike> <span class="s3">I think war brings out the worst in people. It certainly brought out the worst in Eret.</span> </strike></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Down with the revolution boys.” All to be king. </span> <span class="s2"><em>King!</em> </span> <span class="s1">Well fuck them. Fuck that and fuck Eret and their stupid crown and fuck Dream. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe I should thank them. They’ve reminded me of why we’re fighting in the first place. Power corrupts. And we’re trying to stop it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe we fucked up for trusting them, but they fucked up worse. And he’s gonna pay for it. He’ll see, when we win. Tear the power away from the throne, and he’s left all alone in a crown that’s nothing but gold and empty promises.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’ll fucking see. He made a mistake, not us. We’re in the right.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     <em>History will prove him wrong.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Tommy Innit</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry eight:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hello again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The betrayal is hitting us all I think. But it’s hitting Wil the hardest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s paranoid now, glancing over his shoulder and studying us when he sees us. He keeps organizing and reorganizing our gear, not that there’s much to of it. He’s worried everyone will cave under the pressure from Dream, trying to boost moral. I don’t think he’s noticed that he’s started to cave himself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fundy is worried about him. He follows his dad like he’s a kid again, making sure he doesn’t get too lost in his work. I’m worried too, if I’m being honest. I should probably remind him that we care more about his life than the revolution before he flings himself into battle a little too hard. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dream’s laying it on thicker than ever lately, which doesn’t help. He’s gotten all mocking and arrogant in his attacks. I guess he was taking it easy before. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It doesn’t matter though. We haven’t given up yet and we’re not gonna. I’m tired though. And I think the rest of them are too. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Tommy Innit</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry nine:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’ve started to have nightmares.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Not every night, but more often than not. I’ve taken to sharing a bed with Tubbo. It’s a little cramped, but that’s okay. He gets nightmares too, and it’s easier to sleep when he’s near, for both of us. It’s well worth the aches bones in the morning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     Sometimes he wakes crying, and I wake screaming, ash on my tongue. We calm each other down. It’s nice to have a friend. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Everyone is asleep as I’m writing this. It’s a little past midnight and I just can’t. </span>Sleep has proven to be... difficult, as of late</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s just, every time I doze off, I’m there again, surrounded by obsidian, trapped. Eret and their salute and their words. Dream and his men. <em>Fire.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">     Darkness doesn’t greet me as I sleep, I slip into memories instead of nothingness. At this rate I’m gonna go gray before I turn twenty.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dying hurts. I’d never thought about it before I felt it. But the grip of death isn’t cold or dark. It’s got a sting to it. It’s hot, like fire, hot and awful and everywhere. All over my skin and in my ribs and my lungs and my blood, suffocating me with smoke and flames. Dying hurts and it’s hot and it’s inescapable and it’s there when I try to rest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sleepless nights are more common now then they used to be. So are tears. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">  </span> <strike> <span class="s3">I don’t think Wil is getting sleep at all.</span> </strike></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’m tired.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">    -Tommy</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>that’s chapter two folks, thanks for reading!!<br/>if you liked it, let me know, i honestly have lukewarm feelings about the whole fic so far so feedback is appreciated :)</p><p>Byee</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dream gave us an ultimatum. Surrender, or he lights a bundle of TNT. We laughed at him.</p><p>     It wasn’t a bundle.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>two chapters in one day! im popping off</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry ten:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dream gave us an ultimatum. Surrender, or he lights a bundle of TNT. We laughed at him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It wasn’t a bundle. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">We’ve lost so much, almost everything we had. My ears haven’t stopped ringing since the explosion. </span> <strike> <span class="s2">Am I okay?</span> </strike></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">We dove into the water to avoid the blast. It burned Fundy pretty bad, though. Luckily Tubbo managed to grab a healing pot from what remained of our supplies, and Wilbur’s torn up his sleeves to make bandages.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">  <strike>I don’t think I’m okay.</strike> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">My ear is bleeding, I think. Wil keeps fussing over it, but we need to use the potion on Fundy, he’s more hurt than I am. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’m writing this from a bunker I built under the lake. It’s humid down here, and it feels a little too small and familiar for my liking. I think I’m claustrophobic now. Thanks, Eret. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tubbo just asked what I’m doing. I guess I never told him that I started a journal. I told him Phil gave it to me and Wil got this funny look on his face, then he ruffled my hair a bit because he’s an arsehole. Now he’s trying to read it over my shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">WILBUR IS A DICK AND I HATE HIM FUCK WILBUR</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I think I handled that very well. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">I’m scared. I think this is it. I don’t want to give up. Wil is talking about surrendering. </span> <strike> <span class="s2">Why can’t they just let us have this</span> <span class="s2">.</span> </strike>  <span class="s1">He wants me to come with him. He won’t stop trying to look at my ear.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Tommy </span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry eleven:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s Tommy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’m down to one life. That doesn’t feel as scary as it should. I’m probably in shock it something. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wil told me not to be reckless, but can’t help who you are, yeah? I just saw Eret’s stupid fucking face and Dream’s mask with that sadistic little smile and I fucking lost it. Yelled at him like a maniac. Told him we should duel. I win we get independence, I lose he gets a disk. (Remember them?) </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’ve never been the best shot. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dying is just as hot as I remember. Suffocating too. I have a scar on my chest now, just above my heart. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I don’t wanna give him my disk. And it’s not. It’s not a stupid toy or something. My disks are more than just music disks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They sound like home. I don’t know if that’s a good way to describe it but when I have those disks it feels like maybe everything can be okay. Me and Tubbo can just be two kids, laying in the grass watching the bees, not a care in the world. Wilbur can be Fundy’s dad, and Fundy can collect flowers for Niki and we can get in splash fights with Jack in the lake. No war, no rebellion, just us, alive, and happy. The disks make it easier to breathe. Like a security blanket but less stupid. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wilbur gets it, I think. He knows how important they are to me. They give me hope in a funny way. They make me believe that maybe one day we’ll be allowed to be free. We can leave behind the bloodshed and the battle. Me and Tubbo can grow up. I can have my brother and Fundy can have his dad. We can sleep and dream of beautiful things instead of terrors. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The disks sort of represent everything L’manburg is to me. A home. A future. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wilbur told me that he’s proud of me. Even though I lost. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I can’t believe I fucking lost.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a last stitch effort, I know. And it was a stupid move, and I shouldn’t have done it and now I’m down to one life and Wilbur won’t let me out of his sights and he keeps looking at me like I’m this broken thing, one death away from being gone for good. But I couldn’t <em>not</em> do it. L’manburg is ours. I have to protect it with everything I have and everything that I am. Movements are easy. Revolutions are hard. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And I’m not giving up yet. I’m gonna talk to Dream. I’m gonna get us our independence. For Wil and for Tubbo and for Fundy and for Niki and for Jack and because fuck Dream. Fuck Dream for thinking we’ll go down easy. He can’t just snuff us out, we’re not a candle, we’re a fucking forest fire. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">I know they think it’s over. But </span> <span class="s3"> <em>I’m</em> </span> <span class="s1"> not done yet, it’s not over until </span> <span class="s3"> <em>I</em> </span> <span class="s1"> say it is. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">  </span> <strike> <span class="s2">Phil always told us to fight for what we believe in. I wonder if he’d be proud of me too. </span> </strike></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’m going to get us our independence. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Tommy Innit</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>you should comment please validate me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Dream, I know what you want.”</p><p>     “You ready to give me that disk, Tommy?”</p><p>     “This is our war. But this is my country.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello! not a very long one today folks, but that’s okay</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry twelve:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hello.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It worked.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I knew it would, of course. I didn’t doubt me for a second. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I suppose I should tell you what happened, though. I’ll make it as short as possible too, I don’t want to get a cramp in my hand. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Okay here goes. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">I woke up after the duel, and I could just feel that I had lost another life. It’s this, like, burning in my chest. It’s a hot feeling, I think I’ve said that before, that death is hot. But apparently, the closer you get to it sticking around, the hotter you feel. It’s like there’s fire inside my rib cage and every time I </span> <em> <span class="s2">die</span> </em> <span class="s1"> die, it gets bigger and bigger and hotter and hotter until the heat and the flames take me entirely and I just don’t wake up. Death is hot and dying to Dream made it hotter. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Anyways, I woke up feeling like dog shit and Wilbur was freaking the hell out. He wouldn’t let me out of bed, wouldn’t let me out of his sight. He kept shoving health pots into my mouth and chewing me out for being reckless and mumbling like a maniac and hugging me and shit. It was </span> <strike> <span class="s3">a little sweet, to be honest</span> </strike> <span class="s1"> incredibly annoying. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tubbo and Fundy came by too, to check up on me. Tubbo cried a bit, told me to “never do that again, you prick.” But you know how it is. Tommy Innit is not a man who follows orders. </span> <strike> <span class="s3">Maybe that’s why I’m a bad soldier. Maybe Wil was right when he called me a liability.</span> </strike></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">They all looked so sad, so defeated. They were mourning a nation I guess. But I wasn’t gonna mourn yet. I wasn’t done, of course not. Takes more than death to shut me up. Dream ought to know that. He pissed me off, they all did. I wasn’t gonna sit idly by, tears in my eyes. Fuck that. I was gonna get up and I was gonna do something about it. I wasn’t gonna let our nation go, </span> <em> <span class="s2">Wilbur’s</span> </em> <span class="s1"> nation. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It was a lot easier said than done though. Especially considering Wilbur was on me like a hawk, never more than a shout or a cough away. I’m pretty sure if a breathed wrong he would’ve come charging back into the room, potions in hand. That made it exceptionally difficult. Another hindrance was the fact that my chest felt like it was on fire. (Yeah, apparently death </span> <em> <span class="s2">keeps</span> </em> <span class="s1"> hurting too. Annoying as hell.)</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It wasn’t gonna be easy, but I sort of knew that from the start. I couldn’t tell anyone what I was going to do because they’d tell Wilbur and there’s no way in hell Wil would’ve let me charge back in fresh off another death. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So I waited. I laid there in bed like a dumbass, I let Wil touch my hair and bandage my wounds, and coddle me like a baby. I let them look at me with pity swimming in their eyes. I let them read poetry and grieve the nation I was going to save. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But night came eventually, and with it the weight of the day on the shoulders of the people of L’manburg. They got tired as the moon rose, they went to sleep. (Tubbo tried to sleep in the room with me but I told him to go to bed. Told him I’d be alright. Told him I was gonna make it okay. He gave me a strange look after that. But I sent him off to bed before he could dwell on my words.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I gave it an hour, figured I’d make sure they were all asleep. Then I pulled myself out of bed, pulled my coat on, and messaged Dream. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">  </span> <strong> <em> <span class="s4">Dream, I know what you want. </span> </em> </strong></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">  </span> <em> <span class="s2">You ready to give me that disk, Tommy?</span> </em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">  </span> <strong> <em> <span class="s4">This is our war. But this is my country. </span> </em> </strong></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was a pause before the next message came through and I could feel my stupid heart racing in my chest (mostly because it hurt like shit.)</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">  </span> <em> <span class="s2">Meet me outside your house. </span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So that was that. I snuck out of L’manburg, quiet as possible. (When I walked past the beds someone stirred though. Fundy sat up, looked straight at me, his ear flicked. Panic rooted me in place, I stood still and stared straight at him. I shook my head, silently begging him to keep quiet. He nodded at me after a beat and I was so filled with relief all I could do was nod back before beginning the trek again.)</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">I walked through the woods with all this anger still swimming in my chest and pounding in my blood, memories of death new in my mind. (It was more of a limp than a walk, actually, but cut me some slack, I did </span> <em><span class="s2">literally</span> <span class="s2">die</span></em> <span class="s1"> today.)</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When I saw Dream’s mask the rage ignited again all at once. That creepy fucking smile, that stupid lilt in his voice, like he was always mocking me. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stood at the door to my house, and I went straight up to him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dream, I have an offer,” I told him. And he said he was interested. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I told him I’d give him both of my disks if he let L’manburg be free. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(It wasn’t easy. But revolutions aren’t supposed to be. Nothing is easy. War wasn’t, so why should winning be? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I did it because I love my country more than myself. I did it because I love Wilbur and Tubbo and Fundy more than myself. Because I love Niki and Jack. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I did it because it was a home in exchange for a home. Seemed like a fair price to pay. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">My disks. L’manburg.</span> <span class="s1">They play the same tune. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I love them both, but I’m not the only one who loves L’manburg. So that makes it more important than my disks.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He told me that sounded like a deal. So I gave him the disks. With shaking hands and angry eyes, I got a victory that wasn’t quite sweet, that still tasted a bit like defeat. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">As I walked back home, the sun rose over the walls of our country-our </span> <span class="s2"> <em>free </em></span><span class="s1">country. It felt like poetic justice or some shit. They deserve this. And I got it for them. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I don’t know if you’re allowed to be proud of yourself but I was, a bit. I’m not typically known for my selflessness. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When I reentered the walls Wilbur charged straight up to me and pulled me into a hug all “<em>Tommy where the fuck have you been?</em>” and “<em>Tommy, you dumbass</em>” and “<em>I told you to be careful</em>” and “<em>are you okay?</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I suppose I was a little catatonic. The pride in my chest swelled but my mouth was full of dust, felt like I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Just a bit numb. But I won it for us. And I told them all as much as they gathered around the scene Wilbur was making. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were all confused, rightfully so. I explained a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I gave him my disks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“<em>You w</em></span><span class="s2"><em>hat?</em> </span> <span class="s1">”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then Wilbur’s hug became crushing, and Tubbo dove on top of him, laughter bright in the air. Fundy was hollering at the skies and Jack was punching at nothing, Niki sputtering beside him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It eased the ache a bit. To watch Wilbur write a declaration, tears gleaming in his eyes. To hear the pure happiness in everyone’s voices. To watch Tubbo tell the bees that they were free. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Not entirely though. Things don’t stop hurting that easily. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s night again as a write this. I’m back in the room with the medical supplies. My chest still burns like hell, every sigh is a wave of flame in my lungs. They’re all sleeping again. Wilbur and Tubbo insisted that they sleep in here, to make sure I didn’t sneak off again, worried bastards. Everyone else decided they’d join too, out of victorious solidarity or something, so if I want to get up and go piss I’m going to have to tiptoe over sleeping bodies. That’s okay though. They make the air in here a little less suffocating. They’re water on the fire. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’m trying to nail down how I feel right now but it’s proving to be difficult. Wilbur’s proud of me again. I’m proud of me a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Dream still won. Over me at least. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dream has my disks. We have our country. That was the deal. (I’m shaping up to be a rather good negotiator I think, really making L’manburg proud.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Doesn’t feel all that good though. Maybe it will soon. Maybe the sting will wear off and it won’t feel like one home for another isn’t that great a deal, like everyone gets to be happy except me. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But for now, this is good enough, I reckon. In a shitty cot surrounded by snoring revolutionaries. Maybe my lungs ache, but my friends are here to keep me standing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It doesn’t feel perfect, but that’s unattainable, right?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So raise a glass to freedom, I suppose. The world turned upside down. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Tommy Innit</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>please comment feed the flames of my ego</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“It’s been a few weeks since I traded my way to our independence, (three? maybe four) and let me just tell you, having a country is nice.”</p><p>In the eye of the hurricane there is quiet.</p><p>This is that quiet.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i had fun with this chapter!! i hope you all like it!!<br/></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry thirteen:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ello. It’s Big T. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It’s been a few weeks since I traded my way to our independence, (three? maybe four) and let me just tell you, having a country is </span> <em><span class="s2">nice.</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peace is refreshing, and it’s sweet in a funny way I didn’t really expect. Everyone smiles easier now, laughs are lighter. Things taste better too, which is weird. Colors are brighter. Maybe it’s all in my head or something, but it feels like the weight of the world has eased off a bit, at least for now, and we’re allowed to breathe. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Wilbur hasn’t backed off me yet. Never lets me out of his sight. (Shitting is very hard.) He’s all clingy and shit. He keeps ruffling my hair and kissing my forehead and telling me he loves me and being a major bitch. It’s a bit annoying, but I get it a little. </span> <strike> <span class="s3">I get it a lot, actually. He’s worried I guess, about me. I feel guilty. I don’t want to be a bother. Not guilty enough to ask him to stop, though. The attention feels too nice. I don’t know why it feels so nice.</span> </strike> <span class="s1"> I’m a dangerous man, what can I say. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Did you know I slept in today? Didn’t have a single nightmare. I haven’t done that in months. It feels good, it feels good, like my head is on straight for the first time in a while. Proper sleep will do that for you I suppose. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The rest of us are doing okay. Wil is being all president-y, even while he’s fretting over me like a worried mother. I can tell Fundy misses him a bit, now he’s all wrapped up in work, but Wil is teaching him to play the piano, and I think that it’s good for them. Niki has started to talk about opening a bakery, and I reckon it’s good on her. She’s always been a good cook, and she’s nice so she’ll get people in her shop. Tubbo is building things, they’re really nice looking. Tubbo’s always had a knack for aesthetics, though, and he’s brought Jack along to help out. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">I’m not doing much of anything. It feels a little hollow. I’m restless I think, been grinding for too long, forgot how to chill. I might build a tower. </span> <strike><span class="s3">No one likes my towers.</span></strike> <span class="s1"> Towers are poggers. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But for now I’m content to follow Wil around, fulfill my duties as his right-hand man, not that he’d let me have it any other way, of course, clingy bastard. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I think I feel good. Happy, is the word for it, I guess. I think I feel happy. I like it. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">  </span> <strike> <span class="s3">Do you think Phil and Tech are happy? Wherever they are? I hope so. I want them to be. But I don’t think it’s good to dwell on it. Wilbur doesn’t like to talk about them anymore. </span> </strike></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Toms </span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry fourteen:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So the nightmares aren’t <em>totally</em> gone, apparently. Just found that out. Like three minutes ago. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tubbo and I don’t share a bed anymore. It’s weird to wake up alone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I don’t like small spaces. Have I ever told you that? (You. Me. I dunno who a diary is written to.) They’re suffocating, tight walls make me itch. That’s what I dreamt about. I woke up crying. Happiness isn’t as easy as I thought. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I should go get Wilbur, he doesn’t like it when I bottle stuff up, says it’s bad for me. (Bloody hypocrite, like he doesn’t do the same thing, like he’s not the kind of man to smile his way through a mental breakdown. Runs in the family I guess. He’s a big talker though, so maybe he does believe what he says.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I don’t need him though. I’m a big man, I can handle a fuckin nightmare, I’m not a child. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Goodnight. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Tommy </span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry fifteen: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I don’t know why I’m writing in here. Nothing remarkable has happened. I’m not dying. No one else is either. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I don’t know why I write in this thing. No one’s gonna write back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe because it’s a gift from Phil and I miss him. I’ve always missed him though. That’s not new. Everyone else is out at the moment, and I’m home and I don’t know what to do. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’m bored? Maybe? I don’t know how to categorize the funny feeling I’ve got in my chest. I don’t like it. It’s buzzy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’m gonna go mining I think. I need to get out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Big T</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry sixteen: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I FOUND IT I FOUND IT. YOU OWE ME TEN POUNDS TOMMY FUCK YOU. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">said “yOuLl NeVEr FInD mY FuCkiN NotEBoOk tUBbo” FOOL!!!!</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Id read it but Im dyslexic. L</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Tubbo :)</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry seventeen:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">tommmyyyy. tubbo handed me this and told me to write a message? so hey i guess. it’s me. jack manifold. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">yeah. that’s it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-jack </span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry eighteen:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hello, Tommy! (This is Niki) Jack said that Tubbo said that we all had to write in here, so here I am. I hope you are doing well! I’m sorry if this is an intrusion. I promise I didn’t read anything, and I made sure the others didn’t either ;)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I left some cake at Wil’s for you and Tubbo. Test it out and tell me how it is, okay? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Niki</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry nineteen: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hey, Toms. So this is your notebook, huh? The one Phil gave you. The one you’re always scribbling away in. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s pretty. I never got a good look at it up close. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your handwriting’s shit by the way, gremlin child. I didn’t read any of it (promise). Niki would’ve killed me if I did anyway. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What do you write about in here? You’re TommyInnit, so I’d imagine it’s a lot of women.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I don’t know if that’s true, though. You were writing in here in the bunker, feels like an odd time to talk about women. This thing could be full of your trauma for all I know. I hope it’s not. I hope you’re okay, Tommy, I hope you’re happy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I know that I’ve said this to you before, but you’ve been looking a little lost recently, like you don’t quite know what do do with yourself, so I’ll say it again. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">I’m proud of you Tommy. I’m always proud of you. You don’t have to be sacrificing things to make me proud. You don’t have to throw yourself into battle to make me proud. I’m </span> <em> <span class="s2">always</span> </em> <span class="s1"> proud. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I love you Toms, and that’s not gonna change, okay? No matter how static you may feel right now. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Love, Wilby</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry twenty:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">My friends are fucking assholes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The whole lot of them, traitorous bastards. What the fuck kind of person writes in another man’s journal? The lack of respect is clear. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Least they didn’t read it. Thanks Niki. That would’ve been a real bitch move. Real embarrassing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Of course Wil got all sappy in his note. He’s always been very perceptive. He can read me like a book, but I guess that comes with the big brother package. See what I’m talking about now? He’s C to the L to the I to the N to the GY. I love him too, though. For what it’s worth. And I’m glad he’s proud. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fundy didn’t write. I wonder where he was. Poor fellow gets left out sometimes. I should ask him to hang out. Dunno if he’d want to hang out with me, though.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’ve gotta get better at hiding this thing, don’t want my friends getting their grimy fuckin fingers on it again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">My enderchest feels like a good bet. Good luck getting it out of there, fuckers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Big T</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry twenty one:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hey! Some news, fucking finally. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">We’re holding an election. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>a cliffhanger??? who? me??</p><p>if you liked it, let me know :))</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Venom and victory, that’s what this country was built on. The opposition of tyranny, the opposition of power. We were rebels, and he’s treating us like we were kings. We’re not Eret. It was about liberty, not power.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey what's up guys</p>
<p>i'm gonna be honest i sort of forgot is was writing this? but i am!</p>
<p>(self-promo: i finished a fic a bit ago called 'If I turned my insides out, would you even know that I was there?' and im honestly kinda proud of it, so please check that out, i crave validation from strangers on the internet)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry twenty-two:</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hello. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Elections are confusing. They’re long all dragged out and complicated in unnecessary stages. There’s a lot of campaigning. (Wilbur told me to use my “puppy dog eyes” when asking people to vote for him because they’re “basically a weapon” but I’ve got no fucking clue what he’s on about.) There’s a lot more paperwork than I thought. Well, I don’t really know what I thought exactly. I’ve never seen an election before, I just know what Wilbur’s told me. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He says it’s only fair we have an election because just after we won, he sort of elected himself. (He was already the leader, though. I don’t think any of us really minded.) He also said something about consolidating power which I found terribly boring and ignored in favor of thinking about better, cooler things. Like the fact that I’m his VP, which is pog. Right-hand man in battle and office.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I don’t know much about politics, but it can’t be that hard, right? Besides, there’s no way Wilbur’s gonna lose, no one’s even running against him. This is gonna be a walk in the park. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry twenty-three:</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Big Q is a fucking bitch. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I don’t know what his deal is. I thought he was a cool guy! He was always nice to me. (Called me Thomas instead of Tommy, which was weird, but not really my problem.)</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But get this-he’s running against Wil! Calling him a tyrant like we didn’t fight for this nation to be exactly not that. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Venom and victory, that’s what this country was built on. The opposition of tyranny, the opposition of power. We were rebels, and he’s treating us like we were kings. We’re not Eret. It was about liberty, not power.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wilbur’s not a fucking tyrant. He’s running just the same as everyone else. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Quackity’s not even from L’manburg. Doesn’t that make him not allowed to run? I guess it’s our country, so we get to decide. But I don’t think Wilbur would be fond of telling him to piss off. Call it unfair or something. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But I still think it’s bullshit. And I think Big Q’s got a big fuckin storm coming. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Big T</span>
</p><hr/>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry twenty-four:</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hello!</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Debates are stupid difficult. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Quackity somehow nabbed George as his running mate, and now </span> <em><span class="s2">he’s</span></em> <span class="s1"> going around yelling about how Wilbur is abusing his power, like he wasn’t the guy right next to Dream blowing L’manburg to bits. It’s ridiculous, you know? How blind these fuckers are. More than just colorblind for George, really, genuinely blind. Can’t they see they’re everything they’re opposing? I really don’t get it. </span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(Tubbo swore at him today, at the debate. It was really funny to watch his face go all red as he sputtered.)</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s coming up here soon, Election Day. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit scared. Because Wilbur’s definitely gonna win, right? I don’t know what we’ll do if he doesn’t. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">We’re collecting endorsements now. Big fancy folk to speak on our behalf. Wilbur won’t tell me who he’s got, but he seems real excited about it. It’s nice to see. He’s stressed lately, I’m pretty sure his hairs gonna go gray soon if he doesn’t slow down a bit. He keeps chugging coffee like it’s his job and then throwing himself headfirst into campaigning. He’s nervous. He liked being in charge, it makes him feel like he can control things, and when he can control things, he can protect them. In not sure if that’s necessarily true, but it’s what he believes. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hopefully, he slows down when all this is over. He can’t keep burning the candle at both ends. He’ll melt away. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-Tommy </span>
</p><hr/>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entry twenty-five:</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Schlatt is a traitor. We brought him here to help us. He was supposed to be on our side. And he just marched up to the podium and spit in our faces. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fuck him. I don’t like him, anyway. He smells like alcohol and he’s mean. And loud. Louder than I am, which is saying something. And he keeps snapping at Tubbo. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Wilbur’s still in shock from Fundy’s whole campaign thing. (He keeps smiling all wide like if he makes his grin big enough I’ll buy it, but he sorta just looks like he’s baring his teeth. </span> <span class="s3"><strike>Reminds me of Tech, just a bit. They’ve always had the same teeth, oddly enough.</strike>)</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s3">  </span> <span class="s1">I don’t know why Fundy did that. I don’t know he felt like he had to. I know that Wilbur babies him, but that’s how he is! He’s a worrier. He’s over-protective, it’s his nature, he coddles. I guess Fundy just thought it was restrictive or something. I’ve never really minded. </span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’m not mad at him. Or disappointed, really. I’m just tired, for now, I think. Not sure I’m quite cut out for this. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tubbo and I are sleeping in the same bed for the first time in months today. He’s worried about me not sleeping. Or, Wilbur is and called him over. (Wilbur isn’t sleeping either, though, bloody hypocrite.) It’s nice. It’s familiar, close quarters. I don’t like how lonely regular beds feel now. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(War doesn’t really stop when it ends, does it? That’s something I’ve realized recently. It’s sticks around, haunts your dreams and your actions, all invasive and shitty. It lingers like smoke, leaves you choked up and hacking with damaged fucking lungs.)</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’m really nervous about tomorrow. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading, this was a bit rushed but that's fine.</p>
<p>if you liked it, you can go check out my other stuff!! leave comments whenever and wherever, they always make my day &gt;:D</p>
<p>Byee</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading!! again, let me know in the comments if you liked it and if i should keep going :)</p>
<p>Byee</p></blockquote></div></div>
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